11 weeks. I hate that it is double digits. I hate that the number just gets bigger every Friday.
I have often heard the expression that people never change. I disagree with that statement. People do change, all the time. There are events that happen in life that can change a person instantaneously. In the Stephen King novel, Gunslinger, Jake tells Roland, "Go then. There are other worlds than these." I have always thought to myself, "There are other lives than this."
Sondra is a special name to me. My parents named all of my siblings "normal" names. Mine was unique, and as of yet, I have met very few Sondra's in my life. It was Storm that started calling me Rose. We were in the front of the house, that first spring after we were married, and he watched me sniffing my favorite, beautiful rose, and something in his mind clicked with the song, "The Rose." That was it. In his mind, I was his Rose.
Except nicknames don't typically stick to me. I have tried over the years, and others have tried, to attach cute, funny, or relevant names to me, but I always ended up back at Sondra. I never felt like anything but Sondra.
Storm's suicide changed the very fabric of how I see myself. It changed me in an instant. I truly no longer see myself as Sondra. Sondra is a person I used to know. She was smart, and capable, and determined, and somewhat accomplished, and self-involved, and deeply, deeply in love. In fact, that love was so huge, Sondra died on the floor that day with Storm.
I have called myself Rose on social media for a while now, entirely because it pleased Storm so much to see it there. In "real life" I never stopped being Sondra. Now I introduce myself as Rose. It's who I am now. I don't really know this woman very well. She's kind of mean and overly blunt and very socially awkward. She's got a dark sense of humor, and is quick to anger. She cries a lot, and spends a lot of time skulking around her house, trying to find something worth doing. She has good traits. She actively seeks joy, and tries to bring goodness to others. A great hidden source of compassion has opened up inside her, and her heart and mind are full of prayers for others, many of whom she doesn't even know. She loves her granchildren, and has developed a great deal of gratitude for the people in her life, the ones who still express their caring, that come to her house, that take her out to eat, that find reasons and ways to make her smile. Confidence is not within her, but love is, and a deep appreciation for the blessings in her life.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the voice of Sondra can be heard, shouting her practical, logical advice over the din of grief and pain. Sometimes Rose even listens to her. Most days, Rose just tries to survive, still reeling from her violent and painful birth.
Some days are better than others. One more day to push forward, and push back. I miss Storm. I always, always miss Storm.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
9 Weeks
Tomorrow marks nine weeks that I have lived without Storm. It seems like forever and yesterday somehow at the same time.
I went to get the gun today. I have felt compelled to do so since the first day. I thought hard today about my own motivations; why would I want it back? I decided it's because I refuse to make a demon out of an object. It's a thing...an object, nothing more. No demons can live in it...no memories are "attached" to it. It is simply a gun...a means of home defense. Also, Storm would not want the county to get his gun.
I cried when I cleaned it. The evidence bags seemed so cold and had his real first name on them, and lots of warnings about chemical and biological contamination. I cleaned it...then carefully loaded the clip, and put the whole thing away on a shelf. I'm sure I will never fire it again unless it is needed for self-defense.
Even considering the crying, and I'm going to cry regardless, I am relieved that I did it. It was the last of the "death business" that I have to manage, and from here I can, I hope, start emotionally moving forward.
I move out of here within the next month...I hope. My home purchase has been approved...all that's left is the home inspection and closing. Please pray it is the fastest closing ever. I cannot get out of here fast enough.
I wish I knew how better to deal with my anger. It just sits inside of me, and comes out in spits and spurts of yelling at the dogs, and being mad at traffic, but I know that's not what I'm mad at. I'm angry that this man destroyed our lives over a freaking fight. I'm angry that I am so bitter and frustrated. I'm angry that all of my hopes and dreams were taken from me in an instant, and that all I have left is to pick up the pieces and try to build...something out of them. I'm angry at myself for my bitter words that night, for my anger and my part in it. I'm so angry that our last memories together are so colored with this. I am so angry that he left me with no more resistance than a shrug. It was so easy for him.
Anger is not native to me. I don't know what to do with it. All that I can do is just keep moving, and trying to heal.
I see the confusion on the faces of my family and friends when it leaks out. I can see that they are struggling with how to cope with it. I can see they think that I am angry for that moment, or angry at them, and they want to see me smile, they want to soothe me. They don't understand that the anger is there hiding behind that smile. It's in every confused decision, every productive day, every tear, ever moment. I never DON'T feel angry. Ever. I wish I could hate Storm. At least that would give the anger a direction...a focus. Instead, it's just like radiation that I leak a little here and a little there and leave a little bit of unhappiness behind.
I miss the peace loving hippy lady I used to be. That lady was smart, and confident, and capable, and strong, and oh, so happy. I see her smiles in my memory. I see her beautiful sunny days and green gardens and beautiful flowers, and I am jealous of her through the looking glass of time. I wish I could step through that memory back to her, back to being held in the arms of the man who filled her world with love. I can't, though. That would make me an imposter, because that peace loving happy hippy lady died with Storm, and I don't know this angry, broken, bitter bitch he left behind. All I know that happiness is way beyond my reach, and I don't want destroy what's left of my life with bitterness and anger and hurt.
I went to get the gun today. I have felt compelled to do so since the first day. I thought hard today about my own motivations; why would I want it back? I decided it's because I refuse to make a demon out of an object. It's a thing...an object, nothing more. No demons can live in it...no memories are "attached" to it. It is simply a gun...a means of home defense. Also, Storm would not want the county to get his gun.
I cried when I cleaned it. The evidence bags seemed so cold and had his real first name on them, and lots of warnings about chemical and biological contamination. I cleaned it...then carefully loaded the clip, and put the whole thing away on a shelf. I'm sure I will never fire it again unless it is needed for self-defense.
Even considering the crying, and I'm going to cry regardless, I am relieved that I did it. It was the last of the "death business" that I have to manage, and from here I can, I hope, start emotionally moving forward.
I move out of here within the next month...I hope. My home purchase has been approved...all that's left is the home inspection and closing. Please pray it is the fastest closing ever. I cannot get out of here fast enough.
I wish I knew how better to deal with my anger. It just sits inside of me, and comes out in spits and spurts of yelling at the dogs, and being mad at traffic, but I know that's not what I'm mad at. I'm angry that this man destroyed our lives over a freaking fight. I'm angry that I am so bitter and frustrated. I'm angry that all of my hopes and dreams were taken from me in an instant, and that all I have left is to pick up the pieces and try to build...something out of them. I'm angry at myself for my bitter words that night, for my anger and my part in it. I'm so angry that our last memories together are so colored with this. I am so angry that he left me with no more resistance than a shrug. It was so easy for him.
Anger is not native to me. I don't know what to do with it. All that I can do is just keep moving, and trying to heal.
I see the confusion on the faces of my family and friends when it leaks out. I can see that they are struggling with how to cope with it. I can see they think that I am angry for that moment, or angry at them, and they want to see me smile, they want to soothe me. They don't understand that the anger is there hiding behind that smile. It's in every confused decision, every productive day, every tear, ever moment. I never DON'T feel angry. Ever. I wish I could hate Storm. At least that would give the anger a direction...a focus. Instead, it's just like radiation that I leak a little here and a little there and leave a little bit of unhappiness behind.
I miss the peace loving hippy lady I used to be. That lady was smart, and confident, and capable, and strong, and oh, so happy. I see her smiles in my memory. I see her beautiful sunny days and green gardens and beautiful flowers, and I am jealous of her through the looking glass of time. I wish I could step through that memory back to her, back to being held in the arms of the man who filled her world with love. I can't, though. That would make me an imposter, because that peace loving happy hippy lady died with Storm, and I don't know this angry, broken, bitter bitch he left behind. All I know that happiness is way beyond my reach, and I don't want destroy what's left of my life with bitterness and anger and hurt.
Friday, April 3, 2015
7 weeks
7 weeks. Today was the first holiday without him. Neither of us observed Valentines Day, or really any of the other greeting card holidays. I make my very humble attempt at the Jewish holy days, and that's what today was. Passover.
For the past eight years, Storm has participated in Passover. All in the home were welcome to enjoy. I often say that Storm was not a believer, but that's not exactly true. He believed in me, and I believed in Yahweh, so he figured it must be true. At least, if I wanted to do it, he would help me cook, and participate as completely as possible.
The last few days have been bad ones. I feel like, in my day, I might be able to get one or two things done, then I run home, feeling the panic close in. I feel exhausted by the simplest social and business encounters. Sometimes I go out twice just to get home from the outing I am on. Panic over noise and crowds has become normal. Sometimes, when I know someone I like is coming over, or I am overwhelmed in a store or restaurant, or the dogs bark too often, I find myself trembling for no reason. Tonight, before presenting my abbreviated seder, I felt that same strange swimmy trembling. It's very unnerving, and very unlike me.
7 weeks is the number of completion in scripture. It's also the number of Shabbat, or rest. I hope this week, this week of unleavened bread, is a week of rest. I would love to feel rested. Mostly, I just feel awash with emotion. I would like to not work this year. I'm not sure how that will happen. I hope Yahovah sends the blessing in the form of a home to make that possible.
In fact it's just one more week. One more week.
For the past eight years, Storm has participated in Passover. All in the home were welcome to enjoy. I often say that Storm was not a believer, but that's not exactly true. He believed in me, and I believed in Yahweh, so he figured it must be true. At least, if I wanted to do it, he would help me cook, and participate as completely as possible.
The last few days have been bad ones. I feel like, in my day, I might be able to get one or two things done, then I run home, feeling the panic close in. I feel exhausted by the simplest social and business encounters. Sometimes I go out twice just to get home from the outing I am on. Panic over noise and crowds has become normal. Sometimes, when I know someone I like is coming over, or I am overwhelmed in a store or restaurant, or the dogs bark too often, I find myself trembling for no reason. Tonight, before presenting my abbreviated seder, I felt that same strange swimmy trembling. It's very unnerving, and very unlike me.
7 weeks is the number of completion in scripture. It's also the number of Shabbat, or rest. I hope this week, this week of unleavened bread, is a week of rest. I would love to feel rested. Mostly, I just feel awash with emotion. I would like to not work this year. I'm not sure how that will happen. I hope Yahovah sends the blessing in the form of a home to make that possible.
In fact it's just one more week. One more week.
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